


What About the Tea?

by breakingwho



Series: Let It Happen [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Rough Sex, Scratching, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakingwho/pseuds/breakingwho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only a few hours after the two bathing together and their first steps to more than friends, Sherlock already wants more and John happily obliges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What About the Tea?

John was seated in his old recliner again. He wiggled to sink deeper into the rough but plump fabric. He loved his recliner. It was molded to his shape and smelled of home. It's been two hours since what happened in the bath and he was snug in his robe, legs crossed, reading his book, and generally feeling good. He really hadn't been able to get off for three weeks and that was just what he needed. It relieved stress and unknown sexual tension he apparently had towards his flatmate. John tried not to think about it, actually. It was distracting him from his reading. He let out of huff and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to clear his head. 

When he opened them he was presented with a freshly showered detective standing in front of him scrubbing a towel over his head. Sherlock was naked and John awkwardly shifted his book so private parts were blocked from his view. A couple drops of water landed on his novel and he shut the book. "Stop turning up naked."

Sherlock tied the damp towel around his waist, teasingly low. "Don't act like you don't enjoy it."

John shot a glare up at Sherlock, immediately distracted by his hair. It was a shade darker from being wet and some curls were tangled into others that were sticking out from his head. There was a single bead of moisture that lost its grip on the tip of a strand of hair that now raced down the side of his glowing face. He probably had a wank when John left. Which left John feeling more selfish about it.

"So you blow me once in a tub because you knew I was tense and haven't been able to come for three weeks and suddenly you strut around and talk like we're newlyweds."

"'Newlyweds?' No. A more intimate friendship? Yes."

"Sorry, 'boyfriends.'"

"I don't like that term."

"Then what do you think we are?"

"What do you want us to be?"  
That was a question John thought Sherlock would never ask. Not just because it was on the topic of anything outside his work, but because the question was considerate. Regardless if Sherlock agreed or not with what John would say, the fact it was even asked showed that he cared about John's feelings. Just a little.

John swallowed, anxiety washing over him as if Sherlock had been carrying a bucket of it and just doused him in it for amusement. But John thought about it. Friends with benefits? That sounded too impersonal and that never stays as just friends. One falls for the other eventually. And John wouldn't be able to handle the rejection if he fell hard for this bastard. 

He settled for, which Sherlock would be ticked about, "I don't know."

Sherlock bent, almost perfectly in half, to be at John's eye level, his hands gripping the arms of his recliner.  
"Who says there has to be a label. Whatever happens, happens." He smiled with tight lips and John couldn't help himself as he held Sherlock's face and pulled him in for a kiss.

Sherlock's hands dragged themselves from the arms of the recliner to the arms of his now lover. He pressed harder against John's closed mouth before pecking along the side of his face to his neck. Sherlock's teeth immediately bared and aggressively nipped at the skin. John let out a sigh, slightly louder and mixed with more arousal than intended, when Sherlock's phone sounded.

Sherlock paused, lips still pressed to John's neck and John could feel him clench his jaw with agitation. There was a major gap between bodies before any of them could blink and an unwanted chill brushed against John's neck.

"What." His phone was hardly touching Sherlock's ear and he was holding the block with only his thumb and pointer finger, a clear sign he had no interest in a phone conversation. "Yes, yes, whatever." The phone was locked and tossed on the nearest table.  
"Lestrade." He huffed.

"Oh." John wet his bottom lip instinctively then began chewing on it. He didn't want to start a case. Another thing he'd never thought he'd say even to himself. But starting a case right now sounded cold and being with Sherlock while his mind was just focused on John sounded warm. He knew there would be no affection or warmth from Sherlock after leaving the flat. "Well," John tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair before standing up, rocking on his feet a couple times, and clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Well, what?" Sherlock crossed his pale arms over his paler chest with an honest confused expression plastered on his face.

"'Well'," he drew out the word. "The case?"

"Oh," Sherlock made a 'pfft' noise, waving his arm in dismissal. "Forget that. Too dull." He then gave John a stare with half lidded, desiring eyes that made John's heart almost pause then lurch. "You're much more interesting right now." Sherlock took two big steps with those fit, long legs to stand an inch in front of John. He lowered his head so their lips were brushing against each other and when Sherlock's lips parted, so did John's and he held his breath. Sherlock didn't move, only smirked.  
"Tea sounds just as interesting" And with that Sherlock retreated to his room, shutting the door behind him.

"You bloody tease." John muttered.

\---

Fifteen minutes later Sherlock returns from his room, sporting his blue, plaid pajama bottoms with a gray v-neck and sways into the kitchen. He notices in that fifteen minutes John changed into jeans and a button up.  
John is in the midst of preparing his own tea when Sherlock is present again. John is humming and clanking a spoon around in the mug. His back is turned to Sherlock and the detective shows impatience when John doesn't acknowledge him.

Sherlock then stalks up behind John and wraps his arms around the others waist. He rests his chin on the junction connecting John's neck and shoulder.

"Hello." John's voice is sing-song.

Sherlock huffs, tightening his grip. "Why are you so cheery."

"I'm making tea." John shuffles to the right to open a cabinet for the sugar, Sherlock still attached and now leaning a bit horizontally before John returns in front of his mug.

"You always make tea."

"And I always hum while making it." The spoon spun once more around the mug.

"I think it's because I'm here, as well."

"Obviously." John makes a tight lipped smile.

Sherlock hummed a single note in his baritone voice before sliding his hands to John's hips and tracing the shell of his ear with the tip of his tongue. His teeth caught the cartilage on the top of John's ear and sucked on it.

There was a pleasant shiver that spread under his skin, creating goosebumps. Sherlock's hands went straight for his jeans, slipping them under the denim to cup a hardening prick.

The spoon clattered on the marble as John held the edge of the counter for support as his legs tensed. He felt Sherlock's mouth release his ear to make way for his neck and make a meal out of it. John knew there'd be a bruise noticeable for a while after this so he thought about wearing turtlenecks to work.

His thoughts about turtlenecks were interrupted when the hands in his trousers now removed themselves to fumble with the belt buckle. 

"Christ, Sherlock what about," John hummed as cold nipped at his bare thighs, "the tea.."

"Tch, forget about the tea. I need you right here. Bent over and begging for me." Sherlock growled as his hands now rubbed up and down under John's shirt on his back, his growing hardness rutting against John's arse.

John made a muffled noise, as if to say something but was immediately swallowed by the sensation of Sherlock practically dry humping him. John felt his prick jolt and was thankful for wearing boxers so he could actually breathe through an erection. There was a sudden gap between them again and John exhaled and glanced over his shoulder. Sherlock was leant back against the wooden table cluttered with experiments and glass tools of science, waiting. 

John straightened, spun, and almost tripped from his trousers tangled around his ankles. They both laughed at John's almost doom then he slipped out of them, tossing the clump of denim aside. 

John was a breath away from Sherlock and he watched as his eyes flicked down to his erection then back at John, to which he took the initiative to drop to his knees and and run his hands along Sherlock's hips, eyes not once breaking contact with Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock, the impatient bastard, pressed his hips closer to John's face, the fabric covered bump tapping his chin. Stubby but sure fingers grasped the hem of the blue plaided elastic and the pajama pants were tugged down to Sherlock's ankles.

To John's enjoyable surprise, Sherlock was wearing white briefs with a bumblebee on the crotch, now stretched and chubbier from Sherlock's erection.

"How cheeky." John smirked and kissed the bee.

"Well, your red briefs were quite a surprise, too." Sherlock threaded a hand of fingers through John's hair. John's smile faded as he bit his lip out of nerves and desire then pulled Sherlock's pants down, hesitating when more effort had to be put in to pull them over his prick. 

"You can't call me a tease when you stop mid-declothing me, John." 

"I've just-" John tugged the briefs all the way over Sherlock's erection and watched it bobbed in freely, "I've never done this. Like, I'm not a virgin, I've been with women ...and men. But I've never-" 

"You've never had a cock in your mouth." The hand in John's hair moved to caress his cheek. "You'll do fine." 

Those three words seemed to motivate John as he took Sherlock's prick in hand, stroked it a few times before flicking his tongue over the head. Sherlock moaned too quiet for what John wanted and engulfed the head his cock with his mouth. It tasted bitter and salty. It tasted different from a woman but it wasn't bad either. The texture was foreign to John's mouth so he moved his tongue around in curiosity. He felt the flex of veins and then a twitch of Sherlock still growing hard. Once his jaw became familiar with a cock, it relaxed and John moved further down the shaft. One hand was covering the part his mouth couldn't reach yet and it repeatedly stroked that one section with three fingers.

Sherlock groaned an octave louder and resisted the urge to thrust his hips. John was new to this and he didn't want him to be turned off to the idea because of Sherlock's careless and greedy actions. Maybe one day John will thrive on and crave his greediness but not right now. 

John felt this urge and pressed Sherlock's hips against the table. He hallowed his cheeks as he before saw Sherlock do and sucked, bringing his lips to the head and let his tongue trace the slit, lapping up precum. 

Sherlock's fingers returned to John's hair and clutched what he could and coherently moaned. John moved back down on Sherlock's prick until his nose was tickled by the dark hairs decorating that area. Even though this was John's first blow job, he wanted to impress Sherlock and do things an oral virgin wouldn't typically be able to do. So John opened his throat and started to breathe through his nose and continued until there was no more to take. Certainly impressive considering the length of Sherlock. 

The head poked the back of John's throat, causing a natural reflex to gag but that only warranted John to do better and lose this irritable reflex. He moved up on the shaft then back down until the familiar gag inched it's way into his breathing. 

"Oh my _god_ , John." Sherlock nibbled on his lip, really holding back from ripping John's hands away from his hips and fuck his mouth senseless. Sherlock never looked away from the glorious view of John swallowing him whole over and over until there was a drop of drool running from the corner of his mouth to his jaw. "John, oh christ, stop, wait."

John released Sherlock, both cock and hips, letting the tip of his tongue be the last thing to leave his prick. Sherlock groaned a deep note from examining his own prick, not being able to differentiate between if it was precum soaking his cock or John's saliva. Most likely both. 

John was panting, his heart pounding against his chest as if he had just ran a mile nonstop. He looked up at Sherlock and breathlessly tried to speak to which Sherlock stopped him by circling a thumb around John's open lips and bent down to kiss him. When their mouths met, Sherlock could taste himself and it gave a strange sense of thrill; tasting himself on someone else's mouth. John stood without breaking contact and his legs felt like jello. He leaned on Sherlock to help himself from collapsing and grinded his still clothed, throbbing erection against Sherlock's smug and leaking one.

"Take those off." Sherlock stretched the elastic waist out and let it snap against John. John grunted and followed orders. Once the annoying under piece was tossed somewhere, Sherlock grabbed John's hips, spun him around and bent him over the counter with one hand pushing between his shoulder blades.  
"I've been wanting to fuck you over this counter for so long." Sherlock snarled and opened a drawer beside John's hands and took out a pack of lube. 

"Clearly, since you keep lube hidden around the flat." John smirked then almost gulped as he heard the package being torn open and flinched when the thick coldness was pressed at his hole.

Sherlock rubbed between John's cheeks with his lube soaked fingers with one hand and the other returning to his upper back to claw its way down to the dip in his lower back. John let out a gasp which turned into a moan and put his forehead on the counter.  
"Dear god, you look marvelous; red lines carved into your back just from my nails. I wonder what I could with a riding crop. You'd be perfectly _decorated_." 

For a moment John was frightened at the discovery of Sherlock's rather harsh kinks but his body betrayed him as he felt a drop of his own precum plop to the floor. His hips began to rock against Sherlock's fingers still rubbing between his bum, not quite entering him.

"Look at you. You seemed startled by my words at first but now you're begging for it like a slut. You would like that, I know. If I brought a riding crop upon your back and arse repeatedly until you were screaming and frantically rutting your cock against anything that provides friction." 

John emitted a choked sob. His prick was still hard even after no attention to it and the muscles in his arse were clenching in absolute need. He did need this. He needed to feel in danger. He got off on it almost as much as Sherlock. Hell, Afghanistan was full of erections and shoving his cock into a mates willing mouths. And with Sherlock threatening to whip him probably until the sting would carry on to weeks afterwards, certainly made him sob for it. No woman he was with was ever this mad. This kinky and in control. And Sherlock found out exactly what John wanted probably just by looking at him.  
He fucking loved it.

"John, what do you want. You seem in need of something you're not getting. It's agitating you, isn't it?" Sherlock pushed a single finger inside of John to the knuckle and stilled it there.

"Sherlock, _fuck_ , you know what I want. Don't be a bloody tit." Since Sherlock's finger wasn't doing anything, John took the initiative to fuck himself on it. It wasn't enough.

"I do know, John, I'm not stupid. I just want you to say it. Out loud. I like to hear your voice, especially when you're as undone like this. When you're begging like a whore."

So Sherlock also had derogatory name calling kink. John still found it hot as hell. It reminded him of the orders rudely shouted at him during the war. Oh, how John loved to be ordered around.

"I want," John groaned. "I want you."

"What part of me, John?" Sherlock added a second finger and scissored him open, almost growling at the noises John made from it.

"Your cock, you goddamn tease. I want your saliva slicked cock inside of me."

"Anything for my John." Sherlock removed his fingers and pressed the head of his prick to John. Holding his hips, he slipped it in without hesitation. "You like to be full, don't you. You want it until my balls touch yours."

John stuttered then chewed on his lip. He elevated his upper half of his body by extending his arms as much as possible, grasping the counter edge until his knuckles turned white and rocked into Sherlock with impatience. 

Sherlock chuckled at John's impatience and pure desire to just fuck himself against his prick. It was adorable. But Sherlock wanted to be in control right now. He wanted to be the one setting the pace and unraveling John with each slap of skin against skin. He wanted to find his prostate and ram into it until John was shaking and glistening with sweat.

Sherlock swatted at John's bum before spreading his cheeks with the heel of his hands, digging his fingers into the sides and pounding into him. John was thrust forward with each inward snap Sherlock made with his hips.

"Oh christ right there, yes, please don't stop, sir." It was a slip of the tongue from John. A habit from war and giving himself to higher ranked men who missed their wives. 

That slip excited Sherlock even more. He's never been called "sir" before especially during sex. It's always been "baby" or just no name at all. He liked sir. Sir proved him more in charge and had the reins on this moaning, wet, begging slut of a doctor. It drove Sherlock insane with power as he bent over, his thrusts turning erratic, and sunk his teeth into John's skin. 

John yelled and an incoherent string of breathy swears ran out of his mouth as the much needed burn in the pit of him increased. His balls tightened and his arms folded on the counter, forehead on top of them as he came. "Oh fuck but sir don't stop, just-" A snarl and moan from Sherlock cut him off. His teeth was detached from John's back and his breathing was loud and was released in quick intervals. 

"I'm going to fill you up, John. I'm going to stuff my whore with my cum and let it drip down your legs and I'll make you wait until it's dry and itchy to shower." 

John's prick was softening but the electricity of arousal still raced through him as he felt strangled by Sherlock's words. They were filthy yet satisfying. And Sherlock had yet to discover John's choking kink. 

Sherlock ceased his movements only to moan and hold John by the hips against him as he came. Then he made gentle swirls of his own hips to ride out the orgasm then slipped out of him. 

"That looks positively lovely." Sherlock panted, brushing back some damp curls and saving the image of John covered in sweat, cum dripping down just one leg, and blood drying on his back into his mind palace. 

John tried to stand straight but was forced back to his original position by his aching bones and tight joints. 

"Come, come. I guess I have to carry you to the bath." Sherlock sighed, his eyes rolling. 

"Sherlock," John laughed. "There is no way you could pick me up." 

Sherlock took that as an insult and just to prove him wrong he turned John around, John immediately grabbing onto his shoulders for support, and Sherlock bent his knees to wrap his arms behind John's knees and hoist him up. 

John's arms draped over Sherlock's shoulders, fingers brushing his back, and rested his head in the nook of the side of his neck, back slumped. 

"Fine. Onward then to the bath." John lazily pointed in that direction and let his hand and arm go limp again. 

Sherlock genuinely laughed, bouncing his tired, aching John up so he could get a better grip, and made way to the bathroom. 

**Author's Note:**

> So the first smutty one I wrote was supposed to be...not a continued thing, but I felt unsatisfied with it and so proceeded to write a follow-up.
> 
> Oh my..


End file.
